


chance meeting

by BabaTunji



Series: MCU Ficlets [3]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War (Marvel), Cousin Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: T'Challa goes for a walk the day after his father dies. He and Erik meet.





	chance meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galaxiaa7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxiaa7/gifts).



> I love D/s universe so this was really fun to write. (Blast from the past)

####  **-:- Erik -:-**

Erik picks the park because of the color of its trees.

Coming to Vienna as a security attachment for the U.N. conference had taken a bit of doing, but he managed. It being his only opportunity to observe his uncle in a public setting. Then the man dies in full view of everyone. The unexpected event is alarming enough to make him break his cover and seek some sort of… break. Get his mind and plans together. He’s split between glee at someone managing to get the drop on Wakanda and anger that his uncle died before Erik could kill him. The man dying in front of his son soothes Erik’s emotions a bit. It also pushes him to move his current plans faster. This is an opportunity, for him. He just had to move quickly.

So, he’s in the park trying to make sense of the new conditions and wondering how fast he can get Klaue somewhere Wakanda’s intel would pick him up, when someone else walks by. The person arrests his attention, first because Erik recognizes the face but can’t place from where, second because the man doesn’t seem to spare him any attention at all. The park isn’t that big and Erik is standing by the best spot, right next to a long bench and a group of tall trees. So, the stranger taking a seat not far from where he is, isn’t surprising. Not acknowledging him at all on the other hand is a bit rude. 

Erik knows different places handle the greetings differently, but non-acknowledgement is rude everywhere. He does a covert scan of the man’s attire, no obvious dominant signature, not submissive ones either. The place is crawling with dominants, being a meeting of various world leaders and all. So he assumes despite no real outwards sign the man is probably just being rude. Which whatever. He’s turning to leave when he hears something that sounds like a sob. He stops. Looks back as casually as he can to where the man is sitting and now crying. Okay—so he’d come here for some sort of mental breakdown? Fair enough, explains why he hadn’t even bothered to nod Erik’s way. 

Except… something’s off. The man is crying yes but it doesn’t _look_ like some dominant having a weak moment. Erik’s been there, and personally it’s very difficult for him to allow himself to let it out. He has trouble processing certain emotions in designated private spaces properly let alone in a public place like this. There were meditation rooms for this sort of thing and some trained counselors on call. What type of dominant would come out here and be openly vulnerable like this? Unless this stranger _wasn’t_ dominant. Curiosity and consternation bids Erik to examine him closer. Yeah he’s not wearing any signalling Erik is used to, but now that he’s looking for it: the brooch looks awfully submissive-y. Collars were a western thing and this man didn’t look like he was from the U.S. or somewhere like France.

Didn’t he have a dominant? Or guardian to go to? He didn’t look okay at all. Couldn’t be if he was out here crying. Erik doesn’t have a lot of experience handling a distressed submissive but it feels wrong to just walking away. He could take a few minutes to make sure the man is okay before he took off. He walks a little closer to the bench then stops. Wherever this submissive is from, there probably were different rules for how an unknown dominant should approach them. Erik doesn’t know if the submissive is married or taken or what. Heck, him approaching might make his distress worse. Erik wavers on talking to him anyway or just leaving. It isn’t his problem, whoever this guy is. 

He doesn’t leave. 

He walks up to the bench. Waits for the submissive to notice him if he hasn’t already. There's a good distance between them, for propriety's sake. The submissives he knew usually shook hands in greeting but he’s been to places where that isn’t appropriate. He settles for a greeting. “Hey.” Rough but to the point. 

The submissive looks up at him. Doesn’t immediately look down or away. Erik counts it as a win. Now that he’s closer he knows for sure he’s seen the man somewhere before. 

“—My name is Erik Stevens, I’m a security attachment here for the conference. Do you need some assistance?” More service mode than anything but Erik gets the most important thing out of the way first: identifying himself and his reason for approaching. His posture is as non-threatening as he can make it, and his expression and tone stay calm but assertive. Submissives responded better when you gave them clear directives, or so he's heard. 

The man shakes his head, one hand coming up to wipe his face. Erik waits patiently to see if he would say anything else. Surprisingly he does. 

“My… security detail are on their way. I just needed a moment alone.” His accent doesn’t help Erik to place him better. He could be from anywhere in the South African region. He also doesn’t introduce himself. Erik doesn’t mind, him talking at all to Erik is good. 

“Do you mind if I stay with you till they arrive?” It’s a simple request. If the submissive is lying they would know soon enough. If they were telling the truth, Erik could hand them off and not feel bad about leaving some distressed sub alone in a public place. While his interactions with submissives have been very limited across the years, being in the military and then undercover, the etiquette is easy to follow in a setting like this. 

“I don’t mind.” The other man’s voice sounds less teary this time. Erik’s eyes go from the seat then to the sub. He’s really not sure on the actual etiquette here. Why is everything so convoluted? He’s not used to actually caring beyond Dom to Dom etiquette. The man seems to realize his dilemma because he motions to the bench, “You may sit down.” 

Erik sits, a little slow, making sure to telegraph the move and leaving most of the length of the bench between them. He looks out to the sparsely decorated park and waits. He wonders how far away the sub’s detail is. He might be waiting awhile. Making conversation feels like the thing to do here while avoiding whatever had him so distressed. 

“Do you know what type of trees these are?” He doesn’t really care, just making small talk. The trees are what drew him to the park. 

####  **-:- T’Challa -:-**

T’Challa shakes his head, no. He hadn’t paid much attention to his surroundings when he’d gone for a walk. Now that he takes the time to look, he notices the trees are beautiful. Post bloom with small dark red fruits, not yet fallen. Speaking is difficult right now, he hadn’t expected to cry more than he already has. 

It still feels like some horribly long dream. 

He clears his throat, thinks of something to say. “The fruits look like cherries.”

The stranger, Stevens, looks up. “Probably not edible, there’s none on the ground. Must not be ripe yet.” 

The inane conversation is helping. T’Challa focuses more on the man sitting on the bench with him and less on his own dark thoughts. T’Challa asks, “Have you been here before?” This would be his second time in Vienna, maybe his last. 

“First time. Not sure I like it.” Stevens doesn’t go into why. He had said he worked as security. The security here at the conference had failed. But then Wakanda had also failed. To protect their King. T’Challa had failed. 

He loses track of his surroundings again, fights not to cry. He’s tired of crying. He _needs_ to do something. 

"How far is your security detail?" Stevens sounds a little strained.

T'Challa didn't take his phone but he knows someone followed him. He doesn't know about the timing however. 

"I am not sure. You do not have to wait with me." 

"I don't mind." Stevens repeats T'Challa's words back to him. More silence. He's starting to realize why the man's behavior is so odd. Since approaching him Stevens has kept a careful distance, treating him like he is someone fragile. 

T'Challa notes the man's clothing for the first time. He isn't dressed like security. Wearing a suit yes, but none of the usual ear pieces or professional stiffness the security he's encountered thus far have. Maybe he was a personal bodyguard? 

"Where are you from?" T'Challa asks to distract himself. Stevens doesn't seem to mind the question and asks one of his own.

"Oakland, California. Why do you ask?" Stevens is American. Then he rewinds their conversation, comes to a conclusion on their stilted interaction. Stevens is a dominant and he thought T'Challa a submissive. A distressed one. He isn't wrong, but the manner to which he's approached T'Challa is not how a Wakandan dominant would.

People outside Wakanda had some odd ideas about proper behavior for doms and submissives. Even weirder ones on etiquette. The man hadn't asked his name, or anything of importance. Yet was willing to sit with him until the Dora Milaje arrived. Once they did, Stevens should leave. Most of his Dora were dominant presenting and should satisfy whatever odd chivalry is driving him. 

“You’ve been very kind. Thank you.” Most other times the attention from a stranger would irk him. Today, it is better received. 

"You seemed a bit distressed is all." Stevens doesn't ask why. 

"I didn't like the meditation rooms. Being outside is better. Walking is better."

"Do you want a handkerchief?" 

T'Challa has been using his hand this whole time. He nods after a moment and Stevens pulls out a small handkerchief. T'Challa moves over a bit on the bench before accepting it. 

The scent is unfamiliar but unusually pleasing, some sort of cologne. T'Challa dabs his face and sniffs at it discreetly. He wonders if Stevens would find it odd to leave the handkerchief with him. He’s not sure if it's appropriate to ask. 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t hand it back immediately, holding it delicately in his right hand. 

“Not a problem.” He doesn’t ask for the handkerchief back. T’Challa is now sure he should give it back. He doesn’t want to. He would probably cry later, a handkerchief would be good to have. 

Stevens offers a hand out, presumably for the handkerchief, but T’Challa offers his other hand instead. The one not holding the handkerchief. They’re closer now and T’Challa’s left hand is holding Stevens’ right before his brain catches up to his action. When it does it tells him to let go, mortification setting in. He doesn’t and neither does Stevens. He didn’t seem bothered by the new contact either. The man’s hand fits comfortably in his, there’s a size difference. T’Challa lowers his hand eventually. Not entirely pleased to let go, but bowing to etiquette. 

Stevens clears his throat and T’Challa looks away. Face warm, body… reacting. Not in a sexual way, more of an acknowledgement to the other man’s presence. It's not a bad feeling. Just inappropriate given the setting and their acquaintanceship. 

“I’m service oriented. If you need a minute. I can help.” Stevens’ tone lacks inflection, and T’Challa doesn’t know how to read the offer. He wants to say yes. Though he thinks it’ll be more than a minute. Stevens must know that too. Yet he offers anyway. 

“I don’t want to go under.” With the way he’s been feeling all day he thinks that's a strong possibility. He needs to. But not here, out in public with no familiar dominant present. For all that he’s known Stevens for less than an hour the man feels familiar. It should be unsettling but it’s not.

“Okay. I’ll keep you steady.” There’s some time between when he says the words and when T’Challa gives his final non-verbal approval. Then a hand settles on his cheek, a bit cool from the outside temperature. It trails from his cheek to the back of his neck. T’Challa’s senses are drawn to the motion. It's hard to focus on anything else. The pads of Stevens’ fingers are calloused, moving nimbly over his skin. Going from the back of his neck to his shoulders, then up again. In another situation it might be ticklish, but now it just feels good, meditative. 

The urge to kneel sneaks up on him, and he’s halfway off the bench before he’s really cognizant of moving. He freezes, looking up at Stevens. The dominant’s hand is still in contact with his skin. His gaze neither encouraging or discouraging. This would go only as far as T’Challa wanted it to. He sinks the remaining distance. Settling comfortably on the paved ground. The touching continues, less movement and more carefully applied pressure. It’s almost like a massage. T’Challa wishes it would go past his neck and shoulders. Or that they were in the proper place for this sort of thing. 

He stays like that for awhile. 

The moment is broken when he hears the sounds of footsteps approaching almost at a running pace. His eyes fly open and he spots familiar faces. Ayo, closely followed by Aneka. They didn’t look pleased. T’Challa considers his position and grimaces. They hadn’t wanted him to leave without an escort. But he’d just needed—time. Time alone and now he is kneeling at some strange dominant’s feet. It didn’t look proper at all. Once they’re in walking distance, T’Challa stands up, Stevens does too. He seems impassive in the face of the two Dora Milaje.

T’Challa clears his throat. He hadn’t meant to… do something like this with a virtual stranger. But he didn’t regret it. “My security detail.” He says into the silence, for Stevens’ benefit. It's unnecessary. The glare both women were shooting Stevens were enough to tell him who they were. 

When Stevens doesn’t respond he turns to the man. There is a very odd expression on his face. T’Challa wonders if he’s realized who T’Challa is. Why he would be so distressed on a day like this. “You’re T’Challa Udaku.” It’s not a question. 

“I am. Thank you again. For…” He trails off. Sitting with him? Offering him comfort? “Comforting me.” He finally settles to say.

Stevens nods. Spares another look to the Dora Milaje, then walks away. 

“My prince, why were you kneeling? Who was that man?” Ayo sounds confused and a little panicked. T’Challa feels worse for it, on a day like this, to make them worry for his safety or well-being even more than they already were.

“Erik Stevens. I—He offered to help me. I said yes.” A total stranger. An American one at that. The Americans T’Challa has met were usually abrasive and infantilizing. Stevens hadn’t felt like either, even with his odd chivalrous act. He had been kind. For that T’Challa is thankful. 

“If you need to be comforted, I or Ayo can assist. Please come to us first.” T’Challa can hear the strain in her voice. That and the grief. He nods, expression tight again. They too needed to be comforted. As much as he did. 

He tries to placate them. “Of course. I didn’t mean to–He was just being kind. I think it helped. Him being a stranger. He didn’t even know who I was. Not till you two arrived.” 

Neither Dora respond. Though he’s sure they would both be doing extensive research on Stevens once they were alone. The Dora Milaje did not take chances. Especially not after yesterdays’ events.

“We have been cleared to leave. Are you ready?” Aneka this time.  
  
T’Challa nods, “Yes.” He trusted the few things he had brought with him were already packed away. They had been stopped from leaving due to the ongoing investigation and scene processing yesterday. Had to wait for his own father’s body to be released from the autopsy. Wakanda would run their own in a few hours time. T’Challa hasn’t seen his father’s body since the attack. He doesn’t think he can bear it now. 

He remembers only as they’re leaving the park, he had forgotten to return Steven’s handkerchief. The dominant hadn’t asked for it, leaving once the Dora Milaje arrived. He clutches the gray fabric a little tighter. Maybe he would see the man again. 


End file.
